_Old Friends._
Next morning I did as the "King" had told me to do. The whole programme
was carried out just as he had planned it. I made my good-byes in the
settlement, as we had arranged, not forgetting to say "_Dieu et mon
Droit_" to Sweeney, and watching with some humorous intent how he would
take it. He took it quietly, as a man in a signal box takes a signal,
with about as much emotion, and with just the same necessary
seriousness. But I suppose he felt that the circumstances justified a
slight heightening of his usual indifference to all mortal things.
"Tell the boss," he said--of course he meant the "King"--"that we are
looking after him. Nothing'll slip through here, if we can help it. Good
luck!"
So I went down to the boat--to old Tom once more, and the rest of our
little crew, who had long since exhausted the attractions of their life
ashore, and were glad, as I was, to "H'ist up the _John B._ Sail." We
sang that classic chanty, as we went out with all our canvas spread to
a lively northeast breeze--and I realised once more how good the sea was
for all manner of men, whatever their colour, for we all livened up and
shook off our land-laziness again, spry and laughing, and as keen as the
jib stretching out like a gull's wing into the rush and spray of the
sea.
Down in my cabin, I looked over some mail that had been waiting for me
at the post-office. Amongst it was a crisp, characteristic word from
Charlie Webster--for whom the gun will ever be mightier than the pen:
"_Tobias escaped--just heard he is on your island--watch out. Will
follow in a day or two._"
I came out on deck about sunset. We were running along with all our
sails drawing like a dream. I looked back at the captain, proud and
quiet and happy there at the helm, and nodded a smile to him, which he
returned with a flash of his teeth. He loved his boat; he asked nothing
better than to watch her behaving just as she was doing. And the other
boys seemed quiet and happy too, lying along the sides of the house,
ready for the captain's order, but meanwhile content to look up at the
great sails, and down again at the sea.
We were a ship and a ship's crew all at peace with one another, and
contented with ourselves--rushing and singing and spraying through the
water. We were all friends--sea, and sails, and crew together. I
couldn't help thinking that a mutiny would be hard to arrange under such
a combination of influences.
Tom was sitting forward, plaiting a rope. For all our experiences
together, he never implied that he was anything more than the ship's
cook, with the privilege of waiting upon me in the cabin at my meals.
But, of course, he knew that I had quite another valuation of him, and,
as our eyes met, I beckoned to him to draw closer to me.
"Tom," I said, "I have found my treasure."
"You don't say so, sar."
"Yes! Tom, and I rely upon you to help me to guard it. There are no
ghosts, this time, Tom," I added--as he said nothing, but waited for me
to go on--"and no need of our sucking fish...."
"Are you sure, sar?" he asked, adding: "You can never be sure about
ghosts--they are always around somewhere. And a sucking fish is liable
at any moment to be useful."
I opened my shirt in answer.
"There it is still, Tom; I agree with you. We won't take any unnecessary
chances."
This comforted the old man more than any one could have imagined.
"It's all right then, sar?" he said. "It will come out all right now,
I'm sure--though, as I wanted to say"--and he hesitated--"I had hoped
that you had forgotten those treasures that--"
"Go on, Tom."
"That moth and rust do corrupt."
"I know, dear old Tom, but neither moth nor rust can ever corrupt the
treasure I meant--the treasure I have already found."
"You have found the treasure, sar?" asked Tom, in natural bewilderment.
"Yes, Tom, and I am going to show it to you--to-morrow."
The old man waited, as a mortal might wait till it pleased his god to
speak a little more clearly.
"Quite true, Tom," I continued; "you shall see my treasure to-morrow;
meanwhile, read this note." Tom was so much to me that I wanted him to
know all about the details of the enterprise we shared together, and in
which he risked his life no less than I risked mine.
Tom took out his spectacles from some recess of his trousers, and
applied himself to Charlie Webster's note, as though it had been the
Bible. He read it as slowly indeed as if it had been Sanscrit, and then
folded it and handed it back to me without a word. But there was quite a
young smile in his old eyes.
"'The wonderful works of God,'" he said presently. "I guess, sar, we
shall soon be able to ask him what he meant by that expression."
Then, as sunlight had almost gone, and the stars were trying to come out
overhead, and the boys were stringing out our lanterns, I surprised our
captain by telling him that I had changed my mind, and that I didn't
want to make Nassau that night, but wanted to head back again, but a
point or so to the south'ard. He demurred a little, because, as he said,
he was not quite sure of his course. We ought to have had a pilot, and
the shoals--so much he knew--were bad that way, all "white water,"
particularly in a northeast wind. This only confirmed what the "King"
had said. So, admitting that I knew all the captain said, I ordered him
to do as I told him.
So we ruffled it along, making two or three "legs"--I sitting abaft the
jib boom, with my back against the mainmast, watching out for Samson and
his light.
Soon the long dark shore loomed ahead of us. I had reckoned it out about
right. But the Captain announced that we were in shoal water.
"How many feet?" I asked, and a boy threw out the lead.
"Sixteen and a half," he said.
"Go ahead," I called out.
"Do you want to go aground?" asked the Captain.
For answer, I pushed him aside and took the wheel. I had caught the
smallest glimmer, like a night-light, floating on the water.
"Drop the anchor," I called.
The light in shore was clear and near at hand, about one hundred yards
away, and there was the big murmur and commotion of the long breakers
over the dancing shoals. We rolled a good deal, and the Captain moodily
took my suggestion of throwing out three anchors and cradling them;
though, as he said, with the way the northeast was blowing, we should
soon be on dry land. It was true enough. The tide was running out very
fast, and the white sand coming ever nearer to our eyes in the
moonlight; and Samson's light, there, was keeping white and steady. With
the thought of my treasure and the "King" so near by, it was hard to
resist the temptation to plunge in and follow my heart ashore. But I
managed to control the boyish impulse, and presently we were all snug,
and some of us snoring, below decks, rocked in the long swells of the
shoal water that gleamed milkily like an animated moonstone under the
stars--old Sailor curled up at my feet, just like old times.